"The Freedom to Forgive"

Grace to you and peace from God our Creator and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

I want to begin with a confession.

I don’t know about you, but I can be pretty good at holding a grudge.

Not that I would ever admit it at the time.

I prefer to call it “having a very good memory.”

I remember things. I remember what was said. I remember how it was said. I remember what day it was. I can probably remember what I was wearing. And, if necessary, I can probably produce witnesses!

Have you ever noticed how our memories work when somebody has hurt us?

We can’t remember where we put our keys five minutes ago, but we can remember something somebody said to us twenty years ago.

We can forget the name of the person we were just introduced to, but we can remember exactly who didn't invite us to something in 1987!

And sometimes we carry those memories around like little trophies: "Look what they did to me.” “Look how badly I was treated.” “Look what they said.”

And every time we replay the story, we get angry all over again.

The problem is, while we think we are holding them accountable, we are actually holding ourselves captive.

And that brings us to Jesus' teaching about forgiveness.

Peter comes to Jesus with a very reasonable question:

“Lord, if someone sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?”

Now, Peter probably thinks he is being generous.

Seven times!

That's a lot of forgiveness.

But Jesus says, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Or, depending on the translation, seventy times seven.

The point isn't that Jesus wants us to keep a scorecard:

“I've forgiven you 76 times. One more and you're done!”

The point is that forgiveness isn't supposed to have a calculator attached to it.

When Peter asks about the limits of forgiveness, Jesus responds with a parable that suggests human forgiveness should mirror the unlimited mercy of God.

And that is a difficult teaching.

Because forgiveness is hard. Really hard. Especially when the hurt is real. Especially when the betrayal was deep. Especially when the person who hurt us, isn't sorry. And especially when we have convinced ourselves that holding onto our anger is somehow protecting us.

But Jesus isn't telling us that what happened doesn't matter. Forgiveness doesn't mean pretending that evil is good. It doesn't mean denying the hurt. It doesn't mean there shouldn't be consequences. It doesn't mean that reconciliation is always possible or even wise.

Sometimes forgiveness means maintaining a healthy boundary. Sometimes forgiveness means saying, “What happened to me was wrong, and I will not allow it to happen again.”

But forgiveness does mean that we refuse to allow another person's sin to have permanent ownership of our hearts.

Because when we don't forgive, we can put ourselves in a prison.

And the remarkable thing about this prison is that we build it ourselves.

We build it one remembered insult at a time. We build it one remembered “somebody did me wrong” at a time. One replayed argument at a time. One “I'll never forgive them” at a time.

And then we lock the door from the inside.

The person who hurt us may have moved on.

They may not even remember what happened.

But we are still living in the moment. Still angry. Still rehearsing the conversation. Still imagining what we wish we had said. Still waiting for them to apologize. Still giving them space in our heads and our hearts.

And Jesus comes to us and says:

You don't have to live there anymore.

Brené Brown writes in The Gifts of Imperfection about the importance of compassion, connection, and courage.

Those three things are powerful antidotes to the kind of cruelty that unforgiveness can create.

Compassion.

Connection.

Courage.

And I think those are especially important words for us right now.

Because we live in a culture where cruelty has become remarkably cheap.

You don't have to look very far to see it.

We see it in political arguments. We see it on social media. We see it in the comments people leave for complete strangers. We see people humiliating others for entertainment. We see people saying things online that they would never have the courage to say face-to-face.

Cruelty can be easy. Cruelty can get applause. Cruelty can get likes. Cruelty can make us feel powerful for a moment.

But here's the thing:

As Brene Brown says, “Cruelty is never brave. Cruelty is mostly cheap and easy”.

It takes very little courage to tear someone down.

It takes courage to listen. It takes courage to stay connected. It takes courage to say, “I disagree with you, but I still believe you are a human being created in the image of God. ”It takes courage to refuse to participate in the cruelty around us. And it takes courage to forgive.

Brown reminds us that compassion means recognizing our common humanity.

We are all imperfect. We all make mistakes. We all have said things we wish we could take back. We have all failed people we love. We have all needed forgiveness.

And that is exactly where Jesus' parable begins.

The servant owes the king an enormous debt.

There is no possible way he can repay it.

And the king has compassion.

The debt is forgiven. Completely. No payment plan. No probation. No “I'll forgive you, but I'm keeping track.”

Just mercy.

Then that same servant encounters someone who owes him a much smaller amount.

And suddenly mercy disappears.

He grabs the man. He demands payment. He refuses compassion. He has received grace, but he cannot extend grace.

And Jesus asks us to notice the contradiction.

Because that is what happens when we forget what God has done for us.

We become less generous with others. We become harder. We become more judgmental. We become more interested in keeping score.

But the gospel reminds us:

We are not people who have earned God's forgiveness.

We are people who have received it. We live because God is merciful. We stand because God is gracious. We are here because, again and again, God says: “I forgive you.”

And therefore forgiveness becomes not a once-in-a-lifetime event, but a daily choice.

Notice I said a daily choice, not a daily feeling.

Because if we wait until we feel like forgiving somebody, we may be waiting a very long time!

Forgiveness isn't necessarily waking up one morning and thinking,

“Oh, wonderful! I'm completely over it!”

Sometimes forgiveness is simply saying: “Today, I choose not to rehearse that anger again.” “Today, I choose to release my need to get even.” “Today, I choose not to tell the story one more time.” “Today, I choose to let God carry this person and this hurt.”

And tomorrow? We may have to choose it again. And the next day, we may have to choose it again. That is why forgiveness is a daily practice.

Sometimes we forgive the same person seventy-seven times because our hearts need time to catch up with our decision.

And that is okay.

God is patient with us.

God knows that healing takes time.

The goal isn't to pretend we weren't hurt.

The goal is to stop allowing the hurt to define us.

Because forgiveness is ultimately about freedom.

It is about stepping out of the prison.

It is about opening the door and discovering that the key was in our hand all along.

And perhaps that is why this message belongs so beautifully with what we are about to do at this table.

In just a few moments, we will come to Holy Communion.

We will come with our imperfections. We will come with our regrets. We will come with our hurts. We will come carrying things we have done and things that have been done to us.

And Christ says:

Come. Not because you have everything figured out. Not because you have forgiven everyone perfectly. Not because you are worthy.

Come, Christ says, because I am merciful.

At this table, Christ gives us again what we cannot give ourselves:

Grace. Forgiveness. Life.

And then we will pray the words Jesus taught us:

“Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”

Those words are both a prayer and a challenge.

Every time we say them, we are asking God to forgive us.

And then we are asking God to help us become people who forgive others.

Not because what happened didn't matter. Not because justice doesn't matter. But because we refuse to remain prisoners of bitterness.

So perhaps today, as you come to Communion, there is somebody who comes to mind.

Someone who hurt you. Someone you haven't forgiven. Someone whose name still has the power to raise your blood pressure!

You don't have to solve everything today. You don't have to force reconciliation. You don't have to pretend everything is fine.

But perhaps you can make one small choice. “God, I give this person to you.” “God, I give you this hurt.” “God, I don't know how to forgive completely, but I am willing to begin.”

And then come to the table. Receive the bread. Receive the wine. Receive the mercy of Christ.

And remember:

The same Christ who forgives us is teaching us to forgive.

The same Christ who meets us in our brokenness calls us to meet others with compassion.

The same Christ who creates connection between God and us calls us to build bridges rather than walls.

And the same Christ who gives us courage, calls us to resist the cheap cruelty of our world.

Because cruelty is never brave.

But forgiveness?

Forgiveness is courageous. Compassion is courageous. Connection is courageous.

And every time we choose forgiveness, we take another step out of the prison.

So today, let us leave the scorekeeping behind. Let us leave the bitterness behind. Let us leave the prison door open.

And let us come to this table as people who have been forgiven, people who are being forgiven, and people who are learning—day by day—to forgive.

For the mercy of God has no limit.

And neither does God's invitation to freedom.

Amen.

The Freedom to Forgive